


Mrs. King

by GinnyK



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen Part II, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 04:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15111752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyK/pseuds/GinnyK
Summary: No summary.





	Mrs. King

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

It was the next morning before I heard the news. I'd had a long day with a trip to the beauty parlor, the food store and a doctor appointment. I meant to turn on the television and watch the Town Hall Meeting but my 85 year old body protested and I was asleep in the chair by 8:30. Didn't matter though, I was sure I could have gotten a tape of the event from my neighbor. He's always willing to show off a little, remind me where he works. I suppose some call him arrogant but I know that's just his exterior he hides behind. Joshua Lyman is a sweet boy, although probably a little misunderstood. If he weren't so sweet would he bring me M & M's from Air Force One and other trinkets from the White House?

I don't think so.

So when I flipped on the Today Show that morning I got the shock of my life. There, standing in front of George Washington University Hospital, broadcasting live, was Lester Holt. My hand flew to my mouth as the victims of the shooting were identified. As all Americans surely felt at the imagine of Josiah Bartlet being whisked into the hospital my heart sank. But as Lester assured the public that the President would fully recover and he went on to report the extent of Josh's injuries; I sank to the couch, devastated. I remember flipping through the channels, in the hopes that somehow NBC had gotten their story mixed up, but as I hit all the national news channels, as well as he local ones, tears sprang to my eyes.

I wanted to do something. But what in the world could I do, an elderly widow with arthritis and a hearing aid? I did the only thing I could think to do under the circumstances. I got dressed, grabbed my rosary and went to church.

I wasn't alone in church that morning, not by a long shot. The pews were filled with people crying and praying. For a minute I was transported back to 1963. I was 48 years old with two teenaged boys and a husband who sold life insurance. We were living a happy life in here in DC, the boys were excited about the upcoming Thanksgiving vacation and I was sitting down for a few minutes in the afternoon working on the menu for my Thanksgiving feast. I turned on the television and like now, my world crumbled. I went to church that day too, this very church. Looking around the morning after shots rang out in Rosslyn I recognized one or two people I'd shared a pew with 37 years earlier.

With the rosary said and two candles lit I headed for home. With a trembling hand I turned on CNN as I feared the worst. They announced that Josh was coming off bypass and the surgery had gone fairly well. Cautiously optimistic, was the term the news anchor used. I made a cup of tea and tried to sit and relax. Every time I heard a noise in the hallway I looked, half expecting Josh to knock on my door and bring me out of this terrible nightmare.

But obviously he didn't.

I went about my day, doing my little chores I'd planned to occupy my time. The television droned on in the background. It was depressing but I couldn't make myself turn it off. A few times I looked out the front window to see a news truck or a reporter out front. Why standing outside Josh's townhouse would make a news broadcast more "important" or "informative" made no sense to me. I pulled the curtains closed, not wanting anyone to know I was home. The last thing I wanted was a reporter at my front door looking for a quote about Josh.

Late that afternoon I heard someone in the hall again and I was going to just ignore it but I got up anyway and peered through the peek hole in my door. There she was, struggling to open Josh's door. Her key always sticks but she never seems to ask him for another.

"Donna," I called softly, not wanting to startle the poor thing. She looked exhausted. As she turned she dropped the key and I reached down to get it, ignoring the protest of my old creaky joints.

"Mrs. King," she whispered as she held out her hand for the key. I didn't give it to her, I used it myself to open the door. She walked in and wearily dropped her coat and Josh's backpack on the bench in the little entryway. She faced away from my and I could tell she was trying to hold herself together. One touch to her shoulder and she turned around in tears. I hugged her for a minute and led her to the couch before we both ended up on the floor.

"Tell me what I didn't find out from the news broadcast," I said as I took her hand.

"He's in Recovery and breathing on his own. He opened his eyes for me and squeezed my hand," she said as she broke down sobbing. I looked around for tissues and didn't find any. Not too unexpected for the apartment of a single 40 year old guy. I grabbed the extra roll of toilet paper from the shelf in the bathroom and handed it to her. She took it gratefully and tore off a big piece for me to use too. "Mrs. Bartlet threw me out to get some sleep," she explained, as if she had to explain why she was at Josh's place. I may be old but I am certainly not blind.

"So instead of sleeping you're here clutching a roll of toilet paper, crying with a little old lady," I teased her as I brushed the hair back from her face. She cracked a little smile as a few more tears slid down her cheeks. "How about I make us some tea and then you rest for a while?" I suggested.

"I have to pack some of Josh's things for him and clean up a little," she protested weakly as she let me put the afghan I'd made for Josh for his birthday over her shoulders. She reached for the remote for the television but I took it and tossed it out of her reach. "If anything happens, they will call you," I assured her.

Donna was asleep before the tea water boiled so I made myself a cup and wandered around Josh's apartment for a few minutes. I felt a little voyeuristic doing so but I couldn't help myself. I glanced at the pictures on the bookcase, Josh and his parents, Josh and his sister Joanie, President Bartlet and his staff. Tucked in the corner but in an uncluttered part of the shelf was a small picture of Josh and Donna dancing together. Quite oblivious to whoever took the picture they are dancing close, but not too close, foreheads touching. His dimples were out in full force and she looked simply beautiful.

I wondered when the two of them would "get a clue".

By the time Donna woke a few hours later I had straightened up Josh's kitchen, thrown out anything likely to go bad in the fridge, (as well as the stuff that had already turned) and packed up the cookies I'd brought over a few days earlier. I figured Donna could share them with the nursing staff or any number of the people likely to visit Josh over the next few days. I thought about packing a bag for Josh but that just seemed like something Donna would want to do.

"Do you want me to fix you something to eat, dear?" I asked after Donna came out of the bathroom. She'd made a valiant attempt to fix her hair a little and pull herself together but the circles under her fear-filled eyes outweighed the neat ponytail.

"I can't eat," she said as she took the cup of tea I held out for her. She took it into Josh's room so she could pack him a bag. I stayed in the living room, folding the afghan and straightening the magazines on the coffee table.

"Mrs. King," she called from the bedroom.

"What honey?"

"Could you see if there are any pajamas in the dryer?" she called back. I found two pair in the dryer along with an old Harvard sweatshirt Josh tended to wear when he was in a crabby mood. I took everything in to Donna and she folded everything carefully and placed them in Josh's duffel bag. She got Josh's backpack out of the entryway and went through that, removing anything work related and setting it aside to take back to the White House.

"Do you want me to go you with you?" I remember asking, the offer just flowing out without a second thought.

"No, that's ok. How about I call you tomorrow afternoon and if he's up to visitors, I'll pick you up and take you over to see him?" Donna offered.

"That would be sweet," I answered as I turned away, she didn't need to see the effect her offer had on me.

***************

I visited Josh in the hospital just about every day while he was there. I read him the paper, brought contraband food and played endless games of rummy. I saw him through a bout of pneumonia, the pain of physical therapy and the sheer boredom. My visits also served another purpose; it was during the time I came to visit that Donna would actually leave the room for more than 10 minutes at a time. Josh would tease her, telling her she needed to go so he could "spend time alone with his favorite lady". Made me blush, he can be such a sweetheart when he wants to be.

I met his co-workers and even got a chance to meet President Bartlet on one occasion. I spent time with his mother, such a nice lady she is. More than one of our conversations centered on the relationship between her son and his assistant. She assured me that my feelings of "something" between them were more than valid and she was all for them "getting a clue" also.

When Josh came home and Donna had to return to work with a little regularity I volunteered to stay with Josh, "baby-sit" as he called it. Despite the pain and the boredom, we had a great time during those few months. We talked, watched old movies and played games when he first came home. After he got a little strength and stamina back we took walks around the neighborhood and to Starbucks for decaf coffee. The week before he returned to work he took me to the White House for a personal tour. I felt like a celebrity, Donna must have talked about me; people knew me by name and welcomed me warmly. We went to dinner that night, just the two of us. I teased him that he could have had dinner with any number of cute, young ladies; he didn't have to take an old lady out to eat. He shushed me and offered me his arm.

At dinner that night I tried to broach the subject I'd been trying to bring up for a few months, the subject of just when he was going to ask Donna out. We danced around it a few times. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it. I didn't talk it personally though, I knew him well enough to know he was scared and so was she. They had this unique relationship with each other, more than friends, less then something else and it worked for them.

And it's still working today.

*************

I mute the television and reach for the remote as the phone rings.

"Hello," I say, probably a little too loudly.

"Mrs. King," I hear Josh's voice clear as can be from across the Atlantic.

"Josh, honey, how is she?" I ask, fearing the worst.

"She's breathing on her own and she squeezed my hand," he replies. I can picture him leaning against a wall, disheveled as can be, probably with tears streaming down his face also.

"That's wonderful. Give her a kiss for me."

"I will. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Take care of yourself too Joshua," I warn.

"You know me too well," he says with a little laugh. "I'll be fine."

"OK, get back to Donna. I love you, dear."

"I love you too, Mrs. King," he says sincerely. He hangs up and in my mind I can see him scrub his hand down his face and take a deep breath before going back to Donna, which is right where he belongs. I just hope they both realize that soon. As we've all been shown, life it just too short and too uncertain, to let things and people pass us by.

**Author's Note:**

> These are the original notes for this story, Many, many years ago. ----Ever have one of those stories that just wrote itself? This is one of them. I had been working for a month on the next installment of Peering into the Future and I was humming along nicely until two days ago when everything ground to a halt. In the mood to write I went back to find the recent challenges offered up on the board. So here is my response to the "POV of an unnamed, faceless character of my own making" I did give her a name as you can tell from the title but she is completely original. She's been mentioned in passing in a few of my stories but she's never actually been "introduced". The beginning of the story is set during In the Shadow of Two Gunman and it ends, well, just read it and you will see where it ends. If you're reading at work, it's possible you might need tissues, maybe, maybe not.
> 
> Thanks as usual to Abby for her encouragement. One more thing, for those of you who read fan fiction at work, lol. I made myself cry writing the end of it, so tissues might be a good thing to have on hand.


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